


Almost

by sunflowerjohnny



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 18:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerjohnny/pseuds/sunflowerjohnny
Summary: 3 times Sansa Stark tried to kill herself and the one time Sandor Clegane almost killed himself





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> A couple of things for this one shot:
> 
> 1) I changed Sandor's age because I felt uncomfortable writing about him with Sansa. In the book Sandor, to me, seems very young so I tried following that. There's a seven year difference between him and Sansa. So, when Sansa was 14, Sandor was 21.
> 
> 2) I changed some of the events since I don't remember what exactly happened and to match the plot lol.
> 
> and 3) please ignore any typos ^^

i.

The first time Sansa Stark wanted to kill herself, she was only 13 years old. It had happened on the night of Joffrey had forced her to look at her father’s severed head that was implanted on a spike. His eyes were a haunting grey color and his mouth ajar, his once luscious brown hair became brittle and stiff. Flies swarmed around his head as they tried to look for something to eat. She had just finished dining with the Queen and her son when she had excused herself to her room. Cersei had instructed to escort her back to her chamber so that her future daughter-in-law would be safe.

As Sansa walked along the dark corridor with her protector Sandor, she kept seeing her father’s severed head. She could feel the anger that briefly bubbled inside of her before it was followed by immense grief that quickly turned into guilt. As she climbed up the long spiral stairs, she questioned herself on how she could leave her life without her father by her side. She wondered how she would feel safe when the only man she trusted hung on a spike by the gates? She concluded that the only way for her to be safe is by being by her father’s side. And the only Sansa could be by her father is by joining him. And as she opened the door to her chamber, the answer to all of her problems were revealed as she came face to face with her bedroom window. The window wasn’t large nor small, but it was enough for a body to go through it.

Sansa couldn’t remove her eyes off of the window as she walked towards it. She could clearly her the whispered promises of love and protection, seducing her to the unknown. No, it wasn’t unknown. Her father was there, that was a fact. And she was going to join him.

“Little bird,” Came the rough voice of her protector, Sandor Clegane. His voice held a bit of warning in them. “The pack never leaves its kind behind.” Was all that he said before leaving her bedchambers and closing the door behind him.

The window suddenly frightened as she jumped back, scared that it would grab her and push her through to her demise.

Yes, the Hound was right. Robb and the whole North were on their way to the South to rescue her. To save her and bring her back home in Winterfell. Maybe along the way, they could find Arya and save her too. Because, as much as she hated her sister, Arya was part of the pack.

 

ii.

The second time Sansa Stark wanted to kill herself, she was only 14 years old. It was during the Battle of Blackwater and spending about two hours listening to Cersei’s lecture about women empowerment while her betrothed was off fighting the battle. Sansa dared not to voice her thoughts out loud but she had no problems saying them in her head, Cersei Lannister was scared. And Sansa could see right through her mask as she drank and drank and drank. The other women in the room must have felt the Queen’s fear as their loud chatters turned into hushed one. Worried that Cersei would lash out, Sansa tried to calm down the women by being optimistic and sang some songs about the brave knights fighting the battle.

It was during her walk to her bedchambers in the same corridor she walked through a year ago that the thought had struck in her head. If they Queen was worried of her safety, why shouldn’t she? If the Cersei wasn’t safe, who’s to say that she was? Any minute now, Stannis’ men could barge through the castle door and slaughter everyone in sight. Not caring if they plead their loyalty to Stannis or not. And knowing that she is engaged to Joffrey, she doubted that they would allow her to live.  With that thought in mind, Sansa picked up her pace and rushed to her room, closing the door and locking it so that Shae couldn’t come in and stop her. So that she wouldn’t tell her lies about bravery and how women are strong because they are survivors. She had enough of those tales.

Sansa could hear herself pant loudly as her heart beat wildly in her chest as she rested her back against her bedroom door. Her eyes darted to the window as it looked at her knowingly, the aura of safety and protection still as tempting as it was a year ago. She picked up the candle that was on the table and walked to the window, glancing behind her to make sure that the door was still looked. As she quickly wrote her letter of farewells with a messy handwriting, she was started by a voice she knew all too well.

“The Lady started to panic.”

Sansa whirled around and found Sandor Clegane sitting on one of the chairs, a small lit candle was placed on the table next to him.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, ignoring the fact that her voice was very shaky.

“Not here for long. I’m going.” The burnt man replied.

Despite her room being dimly lit, Sansa could clearly tell that Sandor was tipsy. His posture was slouching in the chair, he dragged his words and he smelled a bit of alcohol. Remembering her Lady lessons, she tried not to wrinkle her nose as to not offend the brave knight before her.

“Where?” Sansa asked with what she hoped was a commanding tone of voice.

“Some place that isn’t burning.” Sandor replied.

And suddenly, she remembered the story Sandor had told her of how he had burnt his face when he was walking her to this very room a year ago. She remembered his fear of fire that wasn’t told to her but deduced by her. She had seen his reactions during the ceremonies and tournaments whenever he was near fire. He would flinch, though he made sure it was barely visible, and scooched away from the hot flames. It makes sense that he wants to go somewhere that isn’t burning when everything burns during battles and wars.

“What about the king?” She asked cautiously.

“He can die just fine on his own.” He answered before bringing up a leather flask to his lips and taking large gulps of something strong.

Sansa knows that Sandor never liked Joffrey or any of the Lannisters for that matter, but she didn’t know that Sandor was dumb enough to voice his hatred. But was he really dumb, or was he being brave and honest?

“I could take you with me…Take you to Winterfell.” Sandor stood up from his seat, towering Sansa with his height, “I’ll keep you safe.”

Sansa could feel her hearts skip a beat. Many people feared the burnt man while a few men stupidly mocked him and called him names. Others just stayed away from him. But not Sansa. Sansa never feared him. She never mocked him. And had never stayed away from him. On the contrary, she was intrigued by him. How could a man despise someone yet still work for them? How could a man who looked rough and menacing could be so gentle with his words whenever they were alone? Sansa had seen the Hound fight and she knows that he was strong. That he could fight anyone and win it with barely any injures. And she believed him when he said that he could keep herself…unlike the window that kept calling out to her during her times of trouble. It was funny, really. In a sense, Sandor was like the window in her room. Both promising her safety and protection. And she honestly didn’t know who to choose.

“You want to go home.” He whispered.

Through the dim light, Sansa could clearly see the unscarred part of his face and could tell that he would’ve been a handsome man were it not for the scars. Though, what intrigued her to him were his burn marks, it gave him character and air of mysteriousness. In a sense, his scars made him look even more handsome.

“I’ll be safe here.” Her voice was small. Despite her earlier fears of Stannis and his men, she convinced herself that no one will harm her. “Stannis won’t hurt me.” She knew it was a lie. She knows that Sandor knows it was a lie too. Yet she stood her ground.

Sansa took a step back as Sandor moved towards her, swallowing her cry of fear.

“Look at me,” he said through clenched teeth and she did. Sansa could see the honesty, fear and worry in his eyes as clear as day, “Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday.”

Sansa never wavered at Sandor’s harsh words. Her eyes never left his as he uttered those words. Why would she when she knows he was right.

“The world is built by killers. So you’d better get used to looking at them.” He said while stepping back from her.

Suddenly, Sansa stood up straight as she confidently said, “You won’t hurt me.” She could see something flash in Sandor’s eyes that she didn’t recognize.

“No, little bird. I won’t hurt you.”

They shared one last long look with each other before Sandor turned around and walked to her door to unlock yet and leave. Sansa stomped on the feelings of regrets as she watched him walk away.

 

iii.

The third time Sansa Stark wanted to kill herself, she was only 17 years old. It was after her wedding ceremony to Ramsay Bolton when he had raped her in front of Theon Greyjoey.

She was in her new room in Winterfell, staring out the window when she faintly heard the old whispers of safety and protection. And the whispers grew louder and louder until it sounded like a person was standing behind her and advising her to jump.

Sansa Stark had been through a lot the past three years. She had married the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. She was accused of being an accomplice to Tyrion for the murder of Joffrey. Was sent to live with her aunt Lysa who was insanely jealous of her, thinking that Sansa might steal her husband Petyr Baelish. Had to go on trial and protect the man who she _knows_ killed her aunt. She allowed that same man to marry her off to Ramsay which ended in her being raped. What’s worse is that it had happened in her homeland, her Winterfell.

Her heart wept for loses of her siblings as she walked through the corridors. Her mind attacked her with memories of her parents and the love they had for her. Her soul cried for Arya in guilt over the way she had treated her, unsure if she was even dead or alive. Sansa couldn’t take it anymore. How can she continue living in Winterfell when she is all alone? How can she continue living in a place where her happy memories were quickly turning into new and horrible ones?

Sansa looked down her window. The ground was blanketed by white snow. It looked so smooth and Sansa just wanted to touch it, to feel alive again. She wanted to reach down and feel the tip of her fingers run across the smooth surface.

The sound of knocks against her bedroom door brought her out of her thoughts, “Come in.” She instructed and turned around to face an old and wrinkled woman carrying a bowl of hot water.

“Thank you.” Sansa’s voice was strained. Something about the old woman seemed familiar.

“Welcome home, Lady Stark.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at the woman’s words. The elderly woman smiled at her proudly as she bowed before her, “The North remembers.” And with that, the woman was gone.

Yes, the North remembers. And Sansa no longer needed the window.

 

\+ i.

It was when Sandor Clegane was 26 years old that he wanted to kill himself once more. Sandor wanted to kill himself so many times that he lost count. This time, he wanted to kill himself in order to save everyone else. It was a sacrifice, for they were surrounded by hundreds of White Walkers.  Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours and day turning into night. Men were dying while the Walkers stood watch. If they wanted to return home alive and warn everyone about the Walkers, they needed to leave. And soon.

“Everyone, listen.” Sandor spoke through chattering teeth, his body strongly shivering due to the extremely cold weather, “I’m going to count to three and run at them. While I do that, I want you all to run back to the Wall.”

“No.” Jon was first to oppose, “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Sandor rolled his, “I have no place to return to, Kid.” He told the 21-year-old. “You have a kingdom to return to. You have the mission of saving the world from these fucking creatures. I’ve done my part and lived my life. Let me end it by doing this one good thing.”

Despite being a trueborn, he could tell that the bastard had a lot more potential than him. That’s why he can’t die. He must return to the wall, warn the blasted Dragon queen and the blonde cunt in the South about the Walkers or else humanity falls and there will be no kingdom left to rule.

Sandor knows that fighting off the Walkers alone wouldn’t do much to the army but it would by the others enough time to run back to the Wall, to live and fight.

“Yes you do.” Jon said through his chattering teeth, “You have something to return to.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” the burnt man snorted.

“Winterfell.” The bastard smiled faintly at him, his cheeks red and icicles hanging off of his nose.

Sandor felt his heart ache at the name. Winterfell. The place he was sure was the safest in the whole Seven Kingdoms. The place that he had promised her to take. Her home.

But, what’s the point of going to Winterfell if she wasn’t there? Was she even alive to begin with? The last time Sandor had seen Sansa, she was 14 years old pretending to be brave like her bastard brother and foolish father.

“Come to Winterfell, with me and Sansa.” Jon panted, his body almost submitting to the cold.

“Sa-Sansa?” Sandor’s voice croaked at her name, “She’s alive?”

Jon weakly nodded his head, “Alive and well, back in Winterfell.” Sandor tried not to smile at Jon and his little rhyme.

Sandor could feel something burning inside of him that made him feel alive. She was alive. She was alive and safe. Sansa Stark was alive and safe and back in Winterfell. The thought of sacrificing himself disappearing from his mind, replaced by the will of survival and returning back to her. To Sansa Stark.

He allowed himself to smile back at Jon and for the bastard to clap his hand against his shoulder. But his smile disappeared when Tormund threw a rock that skidded across the frozen lake towards the White Walkers, making them realize that it was stable enough to attack the group of humans.

Sandor wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed that he could return alive to Sansa.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Feedbacks are appreciated!


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